Untitled
by StrawberryChick
Summary: -- TEMPORARILY ON HOLD --
1. The Hands of a Healer

Hi! First off I wanna say THANK YOU for reading this—I thought I was all alone!—and please please PLEASE review when you're done. It might help me to actually FINISH something. Oh, and Tolkien's incredible genius is in NO WAY akin to mine, so please don't sue me because I used his characters in my lack of inventiveness! Now, on with the story!   
  
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_Help Me Win..._   
  
Chapter One~The Hands of a Healer   
  
"Glorfindel—" Airië jerked her arm out of the elder elf's grasp, trying to draw away. He immediately reached out and seized her wrist again, his grip harder than it had been before. She glanced up at him wildly, trying to pry his fingers from her. He wasn't even _looking_ at her.   
  
Fury raged underneath her skin. Who did he think he _was_? Though a legend and one of the Eldar, she was not going to let him tell her what to do. She stopped moving for a moment, glaring at the eyes he had turned to look forward. Then, without a moment's hesitation, Airië heaved her arm back and slammed him into the wall as hard as she could.   
  
He wasn't quite unfazed, though her action hadn't actually hurt him. Though her strength was not nearly as great as his, she was a far cry from as weak as the elf had assumed. "Glorfindel." She said again, staring at him angrily. His eye level was a mere few inches higher than her own—she had only to lift her heels to make them level.   
  
"What are you _doing_?" She demanded. He assessed her calmly, though not letting go of her wrist.   
  
"Getting you out of here." He told her, as though it were as reasonable as his leading her to her father's study at his summons. But her father wasn't here right now. Arwen wasn't here right now. Right now, _she_ was Lady of Imladris, and she wanted to stay right where she was.   
  
"I don't need to get out. Imladris is where I need to be." Glorfindel's fingers relaxed, but she didn't jerk her wrist out of them as she had so wanted to seconds before. "I am not a child. It has been long since I was one, even in the reckonings of the elves." Airië's eyes weren't blazing with quite the same light anymore, as well she realized. Anger wasn't going to help anything right now.   
  
"Do you know what is happening out there?" Glorfindel asked, almost incredulously. Airië gazed at him levelly, and she didn't have to open her mouth for him to know the answer.   
  
"I wouldn't leave myself out of it." It was true, the sounds of battle were growing louder by the minute. Orc-screams were mingling with the ancient battle cries of the elves. They were losing. "I wouldn't dare."   
  
"Your father wanted you to. That was why he didn't take you with him."   
  
"I know well enough why he didn't take me with him. Imladris needs to have _some_ defense." Glorfindel stared at her, unmoving. His eyes mocked her, told her she was wrong. She drew in a shuddering breath, trying hard to maintain the smooth exterior that usually came so easily.   
  
"I'm not weak." She told Glorfindel. Trying to reassure herself, Airië repeated the statement, telling herself this time. "I am _not_ weak." The older elf shook his head, neither agreeing with nor denying her words.   
  
"We haven't any time for this." He said. He set off down the hall, stepping slowly and silently, as always. His military garb was different from his usual robes, but Airië had grown accustomed to it. Tears clouded her eyes and her clenched fists trembled. He was right. They hadn't any time for anything. She had to either get out or fight. She stared at her hand, at the indents her fingernails had made.   
  
Glorfindel stopped a few paces away, and half-turned to look over his shoulder. "No, Airië. You are not weak." He rubbed the back of his neck gently, as if justifying this. Perhaps her aggression before _had_ taken some effect on the legendary Glorfindel, mighty and strong though he was. "Nor are you a fighter." He turned away and set off again.   
  
Airië drew in another breath. Though she would regret the decision she had to make for a long, long time—maybe even the rest of her life—she could not deny that her hands were not those of a fighter. Her hands could heal; they could not kill. She had to stay alive and help as she could for as long as she could. She would only die if she went out there.   
  
"Tell my father, if he's still alive." The words were not sooner our of her mouth before the elven-maid was leaping down the stairs towards one of the secret exits of her doomed home. Glorfindel nodded at this, setting out for the battle once again. Rivendell's last defenses parted, one to face the battle at hand, one to fulfill her long-awaited destiny. The battle still raged in the valley below.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Hey, you finished! Congrats! Like I said, please review! And if you're confused, that's okay, because you're supposed to be, kinda. I know some people aren't too fond of made-up elves, myself included, but I couldn't help but give it a try. I hope it turns out well. If you review it'll turn out better! ^_^ Chapter Two should be coming soon! 


	2. Greet the Morning Sun

Welcome back! I'd like to apologize for any faults in this chapter—I'm not well-versed in the arts of war, so if Lórien's numbers are waaaaay messed up, somebody TELL me so I don't look like that much of a fool! And it's not mine. It's TOLKIEN'S.   
  
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Help Me Win ...   
  
Chapter Two~Greet the Morning Sun   
  
Airië all but jumped awake. Five nights. It had been five nights since she had heard or seen any sign of the orcs that had invaded Imladris. She still had no idea as to the outcome of the battle that had taken place. Fear for her father, Glorfindel, and her home was, for now, kept at bay by the need to get away. Shame had reared it's ugly head three nights before, and she could still feel the pangs of guilt at leaving all she knew behind for the orcs to prey upon. They would stay for awhile—they may well stay forever. She would deserve them.   
  
It was time to get going again. Airië heaved herself to her light elven-feet, though not so light after four days of little food, water, and rest. And still, after having got so far, she was not yet as far as she needed to be. The uneasiness of the land troubled her nearly as badly as it had when she had first set out. Something was still coming—the war wasn't over yet. And here she stood, still with Caradhras between herself and Lórien.   
  
The mountain stood grinning in the growing glimmer of sunlight. The golden rays bounced off the snow-covered peaks, mocking her in their beautiful light. Airië knew the day ahead was to be long and anything but enjoyable.   
  
Sighing and wishing for at least a glimpse of something from home, Airië took the first few steps that would lead her, eventually, to the other side of the mountain. If it would let her. Caradhras wasn't too fond of elves, and she wasn't confident that there was anything to distract it. Her presence would not go unnoticed.   
  
That thought hadn't crossed her mind when she'd hastily let her feet turn south. But she couldn't change that now—speed was her only remaining ally. Her elven-eyes gazed up the slopes of the mountain, and a forboding dread fell heavy on her shoulders. Yes, today promised to be a very, very long day.   
  
*~*   
  
"My lord, two more bands of Orcs have been seen marching on the northern border." Celeborn paced his _flet_ as he had done all morning, hands clasped behind his back and eyes fixed on the floor. He muttered something to himself under his breath, seeming to take no notice of the messenger that stood beside the ladder-exit to the forest floor. After turning and walking the breadth of the _flet_ once more, he turned and fixed his dark eyes on the messenger.   
  
"Thank you. Would you please send to Haldir for me?" He asked, his face fixed into a grim expression that seemed rather intimidating to his messenger.   
  
"Of course, lord." The messenger turned and made his way down the _hithlain_ ladder without so much as a backward glance. It was a good thing Lórien saw war rarely; any more often and Celeborn would terrify everyone out of the forest.   
  
The pacing continued—it was surprising there was still any floor left—for a few more minutes. Then Haldir, Celeborn's captain of the guard, climbed lightly onto the _flet_. "My lord?" It was really sometimes tedious to follow such formalities, but elves observe them all the same.   
  
"Our numbers, Haldir, what are our numbers?" Celeborn said, as if impatiant for an answer he had long thought over.   
  
"We have but two hundred to spare to Rohan; even then we will have only four hundred to defend the forest."   
  
"Six hundreds? Is that all Lórien has to offer?" Celeborn questioned, his elven-eyes burning.   
  
"This is the second assault, my lord." Haldir answered darkly. "Their first was not frivolous." Celeborn's gaze wandered the _flet_. He would not let Lórien fall. But Rohan—should Rohan fall, Gondor would follow soon after; the war would be as good as lost.   
  
The clasped hands raised to his temples, and Celeborn rubbed his head as he worked his mind. "How many came from Rivendell?" He turned his eyes to Haldir again.   
  
"Two hundreds." A short answer, but accurate. Haldir seemed almost as lost in thought as Celeborn was.   
  
"That would make four to Rohan—who is captaining them?" The Lord of Lórien lowered his hands and clasped them behind his back again.   
  
"I am." Haldir's eyes focused on Celeborn again as he said this—he knew his lord would be none too pleased.   
  
"You?" Celeborn turned a sharp glance to the side and ended up glaring at a _mallorn_—scaring away Haldir might be hard to accomplish, but the possibility wasn't worth the risk. "Who appointed you?" He asked the _mallorn_. Haldir answered.   
  
"The Lady Galadriel." Celeborn nodded at this. Thinking it was safe to do so, he let his smouldering gaze return to his captain of the guard.   
  
"Indeed. You set out at dawn?" Haldir nodded once. "Organize the remaining men for me—I will lead them myself."   
  
"Yes, lord." Haldir left, like the messenger, without a backward glance. Wondering how Galadriel did it, he made his way down the ladder once more.   
  
Celeborn stood on his _flet_, alone, looking over the forest from above. He sent a silent thanks to the Valar that it was still there ... he prayed it would still be there to greet the next morning's sun.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Yay! You've finished this chapter, too! Be proud! Now, REVIEW! *does evil Galadriel thing as best she can* It's not working, is it? The Legolas Puppy Dog Face© worked in the other story, must I use it again? Review for meee!!! *cry* Chapter Three coming soon ... if I get some reviews ... *evil laugh* 


	3. Unfound Mercy

Hello, yet again! Welcome to the third chapter—that being Chapter Three, of course. Please try to remember that I do not own the Lord of the Rings, I just write about it because it's so much fun! ...right. Now that that's over, read on! =)   
  
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_Help Me Win..._   
  
Chapter Three~Unfound Mercy   
  
Airië lifted her face against the howling wind once more. A gentle rumbling—as gentle as was possible to be heard above the wind—had begun above her head again. She flattened herself against the sheer rock-face to her left and remained there, breathing clouds of steamy breath into the snow-spotted air.   
  
If this was the full wrath of Caradhras, she thought, it wasn't so bad. The wind did pose a threat at times, but the snow was of really no bother to her. Being an elf, the cold did not hinder her—rather, it made her feel fresh and energized. But, despite her keen sense of balance, she did find herself stumbling for footing because of the surging gusts that rocked the mountainside.   
  
And now, this was the fourth avalanche she had encountered. The first and second ones hadn't been so bad, but the third had taken her quite a while to free herself of. She was fully expecting another torrent of snow, possibly even larger than the last. But, no matter how much she happened to expect, nothing could have prepared her for the ocean of debris that rained down on her from the ledges above.   
  
Airië, as soon as she looked up and spotted the danger, lifted both arms to shield her face. The wind seemed to gasp and pause as a thundering river of snow fell onto herself and her path. The mountain, knowing enough about elves to know better than to block their paths, seemed to aim most of the snowy current at Airië herself.   
  
It was a full fifteen minutes before Airië could, gasping and sputtering, raise her head into the wind once more. It knocked her newfound breath from her—somehow, the gale was blowing stronger than it had been before. A thought occurred to her as she pushed up on the snow and shifted her weight back to her feet; maybe the mountain did have the upper hand here. Her mind, elven though it was, could not stand up to the great, slow workings of something that had stood since the dawn of time.   
  
A few more steps against the overpowering blast brought her to the bottom of the towering mound of snow and ice and stones. Her light feet allowed her to stay above the sinking depths of snow that would have enveloped her, had she been of any other race—but that was hardly an advantage. The wind blew with such force that each step became a labor harder than the last. Her pace slowed, and soon came to a wavering halt.   
  
Finally, the elven-maid lowered her head in defeat. She had tried. Imladris probably lay in ruins now; everyone she had known or loved there must be either captured or dead. The only people she had left now were those of Lothlórien, the land of her mother's kin. And now, here she was, defeated by the mountain, less than halfway across.   
  
Her head raised again to the faltering wind; as soon as she had stopped walking, the weather had begun to clear. "Mercy!" She cried aloud, her customarily fair elven-voice ragged and weary. "Have you none?" Airië did not expect an answer—nor did she expect mercy. She spoke out of sheer anguish, and anger at having failed.   
  
The unexpected answer never came. So it was that, once more, though she knew it was hopeless, Airië turned her face eastward. Her feet walked of their own free will toward the ever-distant Lórien. Her pace was slow and heavy; willful, yet without resolve.   
  
The winds and weather rose about her once more, but she paid no heed. Her feet walked until they could walk no more; the distance she had traveled may have been great or small—she didn't care any more. Rivendell was ruined, her very home was gone. There was no more reason to care.   
  
She fell where her feet stopped walking, and lay limp in the snow until the bliss of unconciousness slowed her breathing and left her mind blank. The mountain let her lie; no snow covered her nor wind disturbed her as she lay, motionless, in the heights of the beautiful, relentlessly cruel Caradhras.   
  
*~*   
  
A pair of bright eyes shined among the many branches that made the borders of Lothlórien. They peered westward—into Dimrill Dale and toward the slopes of the Misty Mountains. The eyes were peircing—that of an elf, for only elven-eyes could be possibly seen in all the leaves and tree-limbs that hid the face they belonged to. The elf made no sound, nor any movement. The eyes' gaze did not waver for many long minutes.   
  
Elven though they were, the two bright eyes could not see one of the mountains they faced. Caradhras, the Cruel, was wreathed and enveloped in dark, dangerous-looking clouds. It was this disturbance that brought the elf so far out of the forest. Elves were not usually allowed so far away from Caras Galadhon—they left the confines of the forest at their own risk. In fact, as young and sharp as they were, the elven-eyes must have belonged to a young elf—probably out of the forest without permission.   
  
Indeed, Vanyalassë had crossed the Nimrodel without her father's permission. It wasn't the first time—she often came to this very place to watch the mountains. And it had been a while since she had seen Caradhras unleash it's wrath. Not since before the travellers had come—though that was not so long. Time seemed to have stretched, so much had happened—the first attack by the Orcs, her father announcing his intentions to leave for Rohan ... it was all so confusing.   
  
The elven-maid sighed as she watched the coulds roll and tumble amongst themselves, atop the peak of cruel Caradhras. She had better be getting home now; there were likely to be Orcs about somewhere, and her father might panic if she were gone too long. Rising to her light feet, Vanyalassë cast one more glance back across the Dale and up at the mountains—and froze.   
  
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Mwahahahaha! Do you hate me? Maybe you do—yet maybe you don't. *sigh* I guess you'll just have to review and tell me! *wink, wink* Excuse me ... I think I have something in my eye ... =) 


	4. The Red Sun Rises

Hi again!!! I'm SO sorry this took so long—was it really more than a month??? Wow. You must hate me!! =( Don't! I'm also sorry if some of the details of this one are kind of fuzzy. I figured I might as well post it, because I might be attacked by nonexistent mobs of readers if I don't hurry. And so, if you are confused, merely flame me (or possibly do something a little less harsh ^_^) and demand that certain ones be cleared up. As of now, I did try. Give me credit for that!!! Also, remember that the Lord of the Rings is in NO WAY mine. I just use Tolkien's brilliant ideas for my own ends. Bit Airië and Vanyalassë sorta ARE mine, though ...   
  
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_Help Me Win…  
_Chapter 4~The Red Sun Rises   
  
_Run._ The thought rang clear through the elven-maid's head as she listened to the distant cries of orcs. Vanyalassë began to scold herself; she ought to have known better than to have come this way during times like these. She had to run—she needed to. But her eyes stayed glued to the Dale before her, and her feet frozen on the wide tree-limb. She hardly dared move for fear of being caught by the army she could hear but a quarter-mile off.   
  
_Run._ Suddenly, she heard it again, and something in her seemed to find reason in it. This time her frozen feet obeyed before she knew what she was doing, and she was on the ground and pelting away from the Nimrodel as fast as her elven-feet would carry her.   
  
Vanyalassë came back to herself suddenly and tried to stop, even simply slow her rapid pace. The last thing she needed was to find herself in the open, on the wrong side of the orc-army, and with no way to get home and warn her father and their people. But it was already too late.   
  
Dimrill Dale opened before her, and still her feet refused to stop. Her _hithlain_ cloak might have hidden her form against the grass, but for her shadow behind her, eastward, away from the sun.   
  
_Eastward?_ Vanyalassë turned her gaze forward and looked at the sun, slowly sinking behind the three tall, snow-capped peaks. The red light was blurred by Caradhras's swirling snowstorm, but the sun was still there, in the west.   
  
Oh, _why_ had she landed facing west? Why had her feet not been turned north?—she could have outrun the orcs and circled them. She could have warned her father of their coming by midnight. But now she could not return home for days, perhaps. By then, all of Lórien could be laid in waste!   
  
But now there was nothing she could do for that. The only directions open to her now were either towards, or away. Her heart yearned away from her path, which pressed onward, but she let it remain. Though darkness should be an ally to an elf, it was not so. Orcs were as skilled by night as they were during the day, and, despite the fact that they were inclined to be rather stupid, it was one elf against an army. She had no chance, without the advantage of sunlight and a calm demeanor. The surprise had left her rather panicked.   
  
No, it would be wisest to go on. Such an army could not go unnoticed by all the border guards. As long as she was out of the way of the battle, she would be all right. She may well be safer outside the forest than in!   
  
A shake of her head banished that thought from her mind. The elves would win. It was unheard of for elves to lose to orcs. And Galadriel … Galadriel had her own mysterious power. _Lórien would not fall,_ she concluded. Lórien could not fall … could it?   
  
*~*   
  
Glorfindel sighed heavily into the wind. The morning dawned red, as he had known it would. _The red sun rises—blood has been spilled this night …_ his thoughts echoed a saying he remembered from long ago. He looked out across the valley of his lord's beloved Imladris.   
  
He saw the blood that had been spilled; the valley was stained with the colors of battle. The lighter red of elven-blood mixed with the dark burgundy of orc-blood, and, though the burgundy pools were greater than the red, Glorfindel turned his face aside. None of that lighter color should stain the valley floor. None of those elves should have died at all.   
  
Why—_why_ had his lord not remained, as Glorfindel had advised him? For the first time in a long time, Glorfindel began to doubt his lord's wishes. The wisdom of Elrond, son of Elfwing and Eärendil, had failed. It had never happened before, so his advisor did not know what to make of it. Sighing once more, he recalled what exactly Elrond had said.   
  
_"Take care of my daughter, friend—keep her safe for me. The valley's defenses should hold; expect me home ere a fortnight has passed. I dare not linger in Lórien for fear for you all."_   
  
But their defenses had not held. Airië had not been kept safe. No more than a week was gone since the lord's departure; they were still to be expecting him for another week's time. And what if Lord Elrond did not return? Even if he did, what would he find himself returning to?   
  
The questions ran unanswered through the elf's head. As of now, all he could worry about was their next assault—and he knew there would be another. He had to gather his forces quickly; the Orcs would not waste time, he did not dare do otherwise. The coming battle may well prove their victory—or their defeat.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*   
  
Yay! I'm done! Now wait in immense anticipation for Chapter Five! See that number? FIVE! I didn't think I'd get this far!!! Aren't you proud? Of course you are! In fact, in proof of your pride, I bet you were going to review my story, weren't you? Of course you were! Yay! Thank you so much! *huggles and chocolate for everyone* 


	5. A Disappointing Lack of Chapter

I think you all will have noticed that I lacked updating for a long, long, long, long ... *breath* ... long, long time. Heh ... well, it has been a long time!  
  
Just wanted to tell you all that I finally got my butt in gear and ... decided to rewrite the whole thing. ^^; Well, I figure it'll be for the better ... but you won't get many updates for awhile. On this one, at least. Sorry, people! I do it because I love you! I really do!  
  
Until the next update ...  
  
~Strawberry 


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